


The Abandoned Experiment

by boredsherlockholmes221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredsherlockholmes221b/pseuds/boredsherlockholmes221b
Summary: So John's in a kinda bad mood and goes off in a huff and Sherlock goes to help and stuff goes downnnnnn (semi-smut?)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Abandoned Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone ficlet, and doesn't relate to a certain episode or another fic. Enjoy :)

“I can’t!” John shouted, as he threw himself down on the sofa, running his hands through his hair. Sherlock had been trying to teach him to dance, but his foot had just been crushed by John’s own clumsy one. “You can’t *yet*,” was Sherlock’s retaliation. He maintained a calm exterior whenever his best friend was angry at himself, no matter how much he agreed with him. He must not upset John further, not after what he’s been through. He turned away to the window, following John’s silence. He thought that John was doing particularly well today, but apparently he wasn’t, as this was the third time in ten minutes that he had sat down in a rage. John wanted nothing more than to make Sherlock happy, to repay him for everything that he’d done for him, but he thought to himself “I can’t even do that.”

After a moment, John sighed and stood up. “Can we try again?” He asked. But to his surprise Sherlock swiftly replied: “No, that’s enough for today,” which made John all huffy.  
“Sherlock Holmes, you are an impossible man,” he started, following his eyes as the taller man moved, “one minute you seem enthralled in this dancing malarkey, and the next you’re walking away to the kitchen table to torch an eyeball. Of course.”  
“John, this experiment is an important one,” Sherlock replied, without looking at his friend, “and in case you had forgotten, the last time I tried to do this, you made me drop the eye in the tea, so kindly, shut up.” He sat down, grabbing his blowtorch and flicking it on. John knew there was no point in even trying to carry on arguing, so sighed, shook his head and went to his room, to flop on his bed, faintly hearing Sherlock curse as he burnt his fingers. He rolled over to look at the picture on his bedside table: a picture he’d seen so often, but his eyes prickled with tears every time he even glanced at it…

Himself, Mary and Sherlock, at John’s wedding. Looking at the picture (which was now going blurry) brought so many feelings to his broken heart… The main one being that he missed Mary. Of course he did, he was glad to have known her for the short time that he was allowed. But there was always another feeling. He could never decipher it, but it was always there. As his tears splashed down onto the frame, he heard Sherlock click his blowtorch off and begin walking towards John’s room, as he abandoned his experiment. John put the picture back on his bedside table and hastily tried to dry his face before Sherlock came in. He made it just in time, rolling over to face away from the door, just as it opened.

“John…?” Sherlock said, with a softness that John had never heard before.  
“Hmm?”  
“Are you alright?” Sherlock regretted saying it immediately. “What an idiot,” he thought, “of course he’s not alright.” He expected to hear a grumbling reply from John, something about “being tired” or “my shoulder hurts”, but there was none. John was silent again; he was tired of pretending he was ok. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that Sherlock could tell he wasn’t happy, but he didn’t want to let him down. He had obviously stayed quiet and thinking for too long, because he heard Sherlock shut the door and stand awkwardly at the end of his bed.

“John… please talk to me, I might not be great at this, but I want to help you, you can have my rubbish advice any time you like, just ask for it,” Sherlock pleaded. That was enough to send John over the edge. The tears came back, harder than they had fallen in several weeks.

John couldn’t say anything; he didn’t know what to say. Sherlock was no use nor ornament; he didn’t know what to say either. He decided to say nothing, and instead, sat on John’s bed, placing a warm hand on his back and rubbing it gently. He let his friend cry. He had read somewhere that people often felt better after crying, so he thought that this was the best thing to do.

John, on the other hand, was trembling with each sob, willing Sherlock to hug him. He had hugged him before, yes, but now he needed it again, just to know that he hadn’t upset him. He thought about what to say and how to ask, rehearsing it in his head over and over, but as he opened his mouth, it went dry, and the words escaped him.  
“Sherlock… can- I’d like-” he sighed, “I mean… please-” He didn’t make much sense, but Sherlock understood, and moved to lie down next to the other man, draping an arm over his shoulder and feeling his every sob.  
“Thank you, John”  
John was confused; as far as he was aware, he hadn’t done anything…  
“For what?” He managed to say.  
“For letting me help you. It may not be much, but it’s my best, and I hope it’s good enough.”  
John rolled over, suddenly aware of just how close he was to his best friend… Best… friend? His heart leapt as he realised what that strange feeling was when he looked at his wedding picture: love. John loved Sherlock. How could he have missed that?! He smiled, so happy to finally understand.“Sherlock, your best is enough for me. *You* are enough. You always have been,” he said, “I appreciate you.” 

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to deduce. From his dilated pupils, racing pulse and “odd” mannerisms, he didn’t need to be explicitly told the answer to the question spinning through his brilliant mind. Scolding himself for taking so long to realise that John loved him, Sherlock flushed scarlet, a stupid grin forming across his face. Before he had time to overthink what he was doing, he snaked one arm around John’s waist, as the other extended to allow his hand to tilt John’s face toward his own, and he slowly pressed his lips to his friend’s… if you could even call them that anymore…

John was taken by surprise, his eyebrows rising into his forehead (and that’s not the only thing that raised, let me tell you that ;)), but he soon melted into the kiss, brushing both of his palms against Sherlock’s chest, trying desperately to keep his hips far away without seeming conspicuous. But, alas, Sherlock foiled John’s plans, as he pulled his body closer, letting John know that the ~feeling~ was mutual. Sherlock rippled his lower body slightly, once more taking John by surprise. John retaliated with a soft bite on his further-than-a-friend’s bottom lip and tangled his fingers in his beautiful, soft curls, tugging lightly. Sherlock wasn’t having John beat him at his own game, so he swung him into his lap, (John gave a small, appreciative moan as ~things~ rubbed together) stood up and carried him to his own room, without breaking the kiss. He opened his door, walked them through it, and closed it, before laying them down on the bed. 

“John, you’re closer, in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe may be some things of interest to you; I encourage you to take a look,” Sherlock explained. If the drawer contained what John thought it contained, then he was all too happy to get up. He first opened the wardrobe door, and then the drawer, his eyes met with all sorts of… I’ll leave that to your imagination. He wasn’t aware that Sherlock had stood up, so it was another surprise when he felt his body push up against his back, his radiating heat begging to be elevated.

“So… what do you say, Doctor?” Asked Sherlock, stroking John’s bullet would with gentle fingertips.  
“God, yes,” came the Doctor’s smirking reply, as he turned around and stood on tiptoes to reach the Detective once more…

-

In half an hour, both men were lying on their backs, knackered. John had never experienced anything like that, and Sherlock… had never experienced… ~anything~. He was glad he did it with John, and he rolled over to kiss his doctor, before rolling to the other side to sit with his legs off the edge of the bed, reach for a towel and clean himself up. The butterflies in his stomach hadn’t calmed down since he started cuddling John earlier, and by the shaky breathing that the latter was letting out, neither had his. Sherlock gave the towel to John, and waited for him to clean himself up too, before lying back down to cuddle him some more. 

“Thank you, John”  
“No, thank *you* Sherlock…”

~ boredsherlockholmes221b  
Feb 14th ‘21

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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